In the four and a half years I've been spewing angst here, I have, if not everything else, learned of one quirk: if I am unable and unwilling to express some recent, dominant thought in words, then it is something that I recognized to be painful. Anger, irritation, silliness, and mild depression are easy to form into words. They are easy to confront, dealt with, and dispelled.

Larger looming issues are not so simple.

But the more I avoid thinking about it, the more urgent and problematic it gets, and the worse the condition it leaves me when I accidentally strikes upon it, or when I couldn't keep from making some connection to said issue.

I fear failing.
I fear falling apart.
I fear rejection.
I fear not being able to manage myself, my life.

So I put it aside, forget about it, pretend everything is just as before, blinding myself from what needs to be done.

...and despair afterwards.

(365*4.5)/646=1642.5/646=2.54days/post

I fear being left alone.
I hate being left alone.
Keeping them here is selfish.
Any other alternative is painful.

My chest aches, really aches, when I think about it.

I know I should not avoid it any longer.
I know avoiding is bad, bad, bad.
But I don't want to think about it, just for a little longer.
The pain is getting worse and worse now. Can't even keep myself it check.
Damn it all.

See, I still can't even address it properly. Can't even structure this into something resembling logic.

This will just come out as ridiculously emo! and silly and stupid and teenage-angsty, but it's nonetheless true: I hate my being. I wish I am not such a disappointment to myself and my parents.